Close of the Day
by LadyStarblade
Summary: When I heard at the close of day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd..."--Walt Whitman. ArcherReed slash.


Title: Close of the Day  
  
Author: Lady Starblade -- ladystarblade@hotmail.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Pairing: Archer/Reed (this means *slash* folks!)  
  
Category: Romance  
  
Spoilers: Nope  
  
Warnings: Written in 40 minutes and unbeta-ed  
  
Archive: Entslash; Anyone else, if ya want it, take it. Just let me know where.  
  
Feedback: in best Roger Rabbit voice Pppppleeeease!   
  
Disclaimer: Hahaha.....I don't own 'em, Paramount does. And someone's making a lot of money off of Enterprise, but not me, and not with this fic.  
  
Author's Note: I was typing some of my favorite poems into the computer at 2am, and this idea jumped up and said howdy. And this was the first pairing to jump to mind. Odd, the way the bunnies work, eh? My first try with this pair, so please bear with me. One of my older stories, but I felt like posting something.  
  
Summary: "When I heard at the close of day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd..."--Walt Whitman  
  
**  
  
"When I heard at the close of day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the   
  
capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd,  
  
And else when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still I was not happy..."  
  
**  
  
Jonathan Archer emerged from the aircar into the cool October air, shivering at the sudden change in temperature. The wind was howling off of the bay, and it knifed through his dress jacket. He managed a curt nod to his fellow passengers before pushing the door shut. The last thing he wanted to do was spend ten minutes out in this wind exchanging farewells and mouthing the same platitudes he had been all night. And he had literally been talking all night. His voice would probably be pretty husky tomorrow. *Or,* he thought idly, *later today.*  
  
It was the first day since Enterprise had come home that Jon had managed to escape the Starfleet complex. Two weeks, cooped up in endless debriefings, meetings, and consultations. He had been ready to climb the walls. And, as had been pointed out, he was beginning to wear a path on the carpet of their provided planetside accommodations.  
  
It was a good thing that Jon had grown accustomed to constantly living with other people, otherwise he might've given into his urge to throttle someone. Luckily the thought of strangling one of his housemates didn't sit well with him. Especially when one was his best friend, one was of Starfleet's brightest rising stars, and the third his lover. But Trip Tucker, Travis Mayweather, and especially Malcolm Reed knew how to handle an agitated Jonathan. The trio had kept him sane, but even then, Jon was beginning to hate the slate-gray halls of Starfleet.  
  
He had wondered if he would ever get out of here. And as luck would have it, when he finally got his chance, it was a case of 'out of the frying pan and into the fire.'  
  
**  
  
The morning had started out like any other; two early debriefings. He had emerged from the second to find two Cheshire cats waiting for him. Rather, Malcolm and Trip were grinning at him. Jon's suspicion level skyrocketed. These two hadn't earned the nickname "the Disaster Twins" for nothing. And by the look on their faces, they had been up to something.  
  
"Ya don't have to look so nervous, it's good news." Trip said in a long-suffering tone. "Ya should thank us, seein' how we got ya sprung from this joint."  
  
Sometimes Trip could get obtuse. "What? Sprung?"  
  
Malcolm shook his head. "What he's trying to say is that we spoke with Admiral Forrest, and he's agreed to give you the rest of today and tomorrow off."  
  
"Yeah, we said we didn't need our roomie going bonkers." This time it was Malcolm's turn to shoot his friend a long-suffering look. In the past, Jonathan had wondered how the two men hadn't wound up with each other. But he thanked any powers that existed that he and Malcolm were together.  
  
Trip startled him out of his reverie. "Earth to Captain Archer. If you want to get outta here, you need to drop by Forrest's office to gain your freedom."  
  
"It will do you well to get out and about. Take some time for yourself."   
  
Jon raised his eyebrows at Malcolm's comment. "Hmm, I was hoping for something more along the lines of lolling in bed." He dropped his voice as he leaned forward. "And not by myself."  
  
Those gray eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. "That sounds like a delightful idea, but unfortunately I am slated for another round of refits today. But this evening and tomorrow are also mine to do with as I please."  
  
"Ohhh....get a room, would ya?" Both men looked over at Trip as the engineer rolled his eyes.  
  
"We have a room, Trip, but we don't always get to use it." Jon pointed out good-naturedly.  
  
"Yeah, I know, but sheesh, you two...." His voice trailed off as all three grinned.  
  
"Go on love, get out while you can. I'll be waiting for you later." Malcolm said as he ran a hand up Jon's arm to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"All right. If you insist." Jon tilted his head to rest on Malcolm's hand briefly before the three men went their separate ways.  
  
**  
  
*'Just one lunch,' he said,* Jon thought as he climbed the front stairs. *'Just put on this dress uniform we'll be in and out of there within the hour.' Hah!* One lunch with a small group of civilians working for Starfleet had turned into twelve hours of hopping from gathering to gathering, all eager to meet and shower praise on the Captain of Earth's finest ship and leader of Starfleet's most successful mission. Everyone had wanted and gotten a piece of him today, and now he was tired beyond belief.  
  
Slipping through the front door, Jon shook off his overcoat and immediately undid the snug collar of the dress uniform. These things were made for show, not comfort, and he had been trapped in it for long enough. Yanking at the multitude of buttons going down the front, he passed from the entryway into the front room.  
  
Trip, sprawled out over the long couch, rolled his head against the back to look up at Jon. "Hi. Finally decide ta come home?" Fatigue made his drawl more pronounced than usual.  
  
"What are you still doing up?" Jon asked quietly.  
  
"Promised Malcolm I'd wait up for ya. I made him go ta bed 'bout two hours ago. He was dead on his feet, and he wouldn't go til I promised. The Sleepin' Beauties over there," Trip gestured to where Travis was slumped over in an armchair, chin resting on his chest, Porthos curled contentedly in his lap, "were gonna keep me company, but they both fell asleep a while back. And," he continued as he slowly rose, "now I'm goin' ta bed too."  
  
Jon nodded. "Thanks, Trip. The only thing that kept me going the last, oh, five hours was the thought of my bed."  
  
"Yeah, and who's in it, I bet."  
  
Jon opened his mouth to reply, but closed it when no appropriate comeback came out. Trip wiggled his eyebrows, drawing a tired grin from the other man. "Trip...." he said in a half-mocking tone.  
  
"C'mon, you guys ask for it, as mushy as ya are." Trip reached over and clapped Jon on the arm. "Go on upstairs. I'm gonna wake up the Winkles...or at least try ta."  
  
"Mmm. Good night, Trip," Jon said as he turned and headed for the stairs.  
  
"G'night, Jon."  
  
**  
  
It was a difficult job getting out of that uniform in the dark room, but Jon managed. Leaving the clothing in a heap on the floor that he was sure Malcolm would scold him for in the morning, Jon padded across the room until he reached the bed. Malcolm was asleep, curled on his side, facing away from the door. Jon watched his lover for a moment, watching the dim moonlight play across the skin of his shoulder and back. He slid underneath the covers as carefully as he could, not wanting to wake Malcolm. Once settled, Jon had to restrain himself from reaching out to draw the other man to him.   
  
But the problem became moot as Malcolm suddenly rolled over, pressing the length of his body against Jon while slinging an arm across his chest. "Hello, Jonathan," he said quietly. Jon shivered, as he always did, at the way Malcolm drew out his full name.  
  
"Hello, Malcolm." Jon pressed his lips to the dark hair. "I finally got home."  
  
"Hmm, so I see. I heard you were kidnapped?"  
  
"Yes." The word was more like a groan.  
  
"Well, tomorrow Forrest won't have a chance to make you go anywhere."  
  
"Oh, the promised lolling in bed?"  
  
"You won't leave this room, love."  
  
**  
  
"In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,  
  
And his arm lay lightly around my breast--and that night I was happy."  
  
--"When I Heard at the Close of Day"  
  
by Walt Whitman  
  
**  
  
END 


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